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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080789">Ghost of you.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartforholmes/pseuds/smartforholmes'>smartforholmes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Greg Lestrade, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Temporary Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartforholmes/pseuds/smartforholmes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gregory's suspected death and Mycroft's destructive cope mechanism, Sherlock gets involved.</p><p>Based on Mystrade Monday prompt #20 “You are the one thing keeping me sane right now”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghost of you.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the night of Guy Fawkes Day, Gregory François Lestrade was murdered by a still fugitive sniper, a sole bullet penetrating his body with an extreme force that promptly broke his spine, resulting in injuries that, if he may have survived, would leave him on a wheelchair for the rest of his days.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn't.</p><p> </p><p>The respected, and recently promoted Detective Chief Inspector was pronounced dead by the medical crew that arrived not longer than 5 minutes after the first and only shot was fired. Having been related to a rather crucial and dangerous case with Sherlock, that implicated a Mexican Cartel working in central London was the only hypothesis his co-workers could think of.</p><p> </p><p>New Scotland Yard mourned bitterly, so did the few friends he had. But there was someone who grieved in silence, that couldn't dare to take the call from one Molly Hooper, informing him he should identify the body.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft Holmes, better known as Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade by their families and close camaraderies.</p><p> </p><p>As the first snowflakes fell from the heavily clouded sky, The Clash’s ‘London Calling’ played and the brown casket that carried Lestrade's body was lowered 6 feet underground. Sherlock stood with his head high, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, Mycroft's shaky form stood beside him.</p><p> </p><p>John, carrying Rosie in his arms, walked away with Mrs. Hudson and Molly once the burial finished, avoiding an even more painful goodbye towards their late friend. But both Holmes brothers stayed in their places, staring at the tombstone that read Gregory's full name in golden letters.</p><p> </p><p>“How are you holding up, brother?” Sherlock asked, his right hand quietly sliding around Mycroft's waist to keep him steady.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft snorted, tears finally falling. “My husband is dead, Sherlock, how do you think?” </p><p> </p><p>With an eye roll, Sherlock responded, “Right, dumb question,” He formulated his thoughts before adding, “I think you should stay at 221B with us for the next few days, or weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>But Mycroft's answer was to separate forcefully from Sherlock's embrace, glaring at the Consulting Detective with abrupt rage and grief. “Do you want to know what I think, brother dear?” </p><p> </p><p>Before Mycroft mumbled those words, the younger Holmes knew exactly what he would say<em>. “I think it should be you in that casket and not him.”</em></p><p> </p><p>With that, stepping on wobbling legs, Mycroft dashed out of the Cemetery, climbing inside the black Bentley waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>What started as days of grief, turned into weeks.</p><p> </p><p>Then, into months.</p><p> </p><p>In the blink of an eye, two years had passed.</p><p> </p><p>And Mycroft still couldn't move on. </p><p> </p><p>If any who knew Greg Lestrade took a look at the offices inside NSY, one could tell everyone moved forward and yes, they may have a photograph of him hanged up in what used to be his office, but his name was no longer a matter of discussion.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock noticed, when the first anniversary of Greg's decease occurred, numerous things didn't match properly. For example, how his co-workers, especially Sally and Dimmock never mentioned him, or how his casket was closed throughout the entire funeral; it didn't make sense, since there was no reason for it.</p><p> </p><p>The younger Holmes determined at that moment to initiate an investigation of his own, witnessing how much damage and pain Greg's absence was causing to his family. However, his biggest worry was Mycroft.</p><p> </p><p>Even if his brother had affirmed Sherlock as the reason Greg was murdered, it wasn't enough to stop him from asking Anthea for updates on his brother's health. Ultimately, the PA send them without Sherlock asking. Which told a lot</p><p> </p><p>Three weeks before the second anniversary, Anthea appeared at Baker Street with a filthy, beaten, and whining Mycroft, who collapsed by the door. John's instinct kicked in and, as Sherlock talked with Anthea, cleaned his injuries.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell happened, Anthea?”</p><p> </p><p>The woman shrugged. “He needs to stay with you, wanting it or not.” </p><p> </p><p>This was something Sherlock did not expect. “That doesn't answer my question. I asked, what <em>the hell</em> happened to my brother?”</p><p> </p><p>Anthea gulped nervously, taking a deep breath and staring back at the desperate orbs of her boss’ brother. “For the past weeks, Mr. Holmes has requested me to find...” A blush established on her face. “Sexual partners, but every time I presume he laments it and shoves them out. In tears.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, damn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed. But his most recent partner didn't take too well his behavior and denial, so he found the choice of beating him and stealing the 20 pounds he carried on his wallet appropriate.” Anthea spat venom on her words at the mention of the incident.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll take care of him, don't worry about it,” Sherlock promised, looking at his lover washing the blood off Mycroft's face.</p><p> </p><p>Wordlessly, Anthea turned around to leave, only to be stopped by Sherlock's hand on her elbow.</p><p> </p><p>“Anthea, wait!” Mycroft's PA looked at him, expecting a good explanation for the sudden interval. “There’s something you need to know, but I can't tell it now, not with my brother in the room.” </p><p> </p><p>Anthea thought for a brief moment, then sighed. “Does tomorrow work for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft wanted to object, but deep down he knew he required help. For the past two years, all he had done was drinking his sorrow away, attempting to suppress the need for Gregory's warmth with whoever wanted to earn money and... Acceptable sex. But he couldn't. Not with Greg's formidable form standing in the hallway of his Mind Palace, staring at him with disapproval.</p><p> </p><p>Living was becoming harder and harder, the reason why he was thankful Anthea arrived at his home once Alexander left him on the floor severely beaten. He knew John cared for him, so did Sherlock, and little Rosemund was just a toddler. But all of them matter nothing because all he needed was Gregory.</p><p> </p><p>And he was never coming back.</p><p> </p><p>Greg was his entire world, his reason to be alive, his rock and strength, and it was proved to him for the 4 years they were married. But they could've had more, so much more; Mycroft remembered how Gregory promised him they would grow old together, living on a cabin in Sussex away from everyone. Even if they wouldn't have grandchildren, both would welcome Rosemund’s family, and maybe a dog or two.</p><p> </p><p>They planned everything cluelessly, unaware of how cruel destiny could be.</p><p> </p><p>A sob escaped his lips before he could avoid it, followed by a countless number of them. He curled into a ball and cried out, not minding if his brother ran into the room to comfort him, not minding if John held him and let him cry on his shoulder, not minding if Mrs. Hudson witnessed everything.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft wished the agony stopped. Unfortunately, he convinced himself a long time ago it would never end.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>A trip to the Hospital later, Mycroft requested Sherlock to drive him to the Cemetery.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to see him.” He declared.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock, alongside Anthea, drove the elder Holmes to their destination, anxious about what was going to happen. Unconsciously, Mycroft's head dropped on his little brother's shoulder, physically and mentally exhausted. They were still half an hour away, so Sherlock wrapped his arm over Mycroft's shoulders and held him silently.</p><p> </p><p>Once inside the Cemetery, the three of them walked the painfully familiar path to Greg's grave, Anthea and Sherlock holding each of Mycroft's arms. It didn't take them long to stand in front of it, the eldest sighing in melancholy.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll give you some privacy, sir. Sherlock, come along.” Anthea spoke, rubbing Mycroft's shoulder before walking away, Sherlock in tow.</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft carefully lowered himself down, kneeling two feet apart from the gravestone, a sad smile shaping his lips. “Hello, my dear,”</p><p> </p><p>An immediate ‘Hello, gorgeous’ echoed in his head, a raspy and deep voice that he missed like a mad man.</p><p> </p><p>“It has been a while, hasn't it? Two years now, and I still miss you like the day I lost you,” He murmured, stroking the fine stone. “I can't move on, my Gregory, I've tried so hard but I just... Can't.”</p><p> </p><p>In the distance, he could hear footsteps approaching and the sound of a cane hitting softly the ground, but he was too busy doing something else.</p><p> </p><p>“Even gone, you're the one thing keeping me sane right now. I can still see you standing there, seeing me at my lowest, smiling so warmly that I just want to run to your arms,” Mycroft felt like crying, but there were no tears left to cry. “But you are dead, and I can't have you back.”</p><p> </p><p>“I still need you,” The auburn whimpered, rubbing his eyes with his right hand. “I would marry you again if it meant you would come back to me.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>“Marry me again, eh? That's a good reason to come back.”</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft turned around, only to be drowned by the portrait of his husband, thinner than the last time he saw him, a grey beard adorning his face and a walking cane on his left hand. He looked knackered, but he was <em>alive</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Gregory... You... You're–”</p><p> </p><p>“Alive, darlin’. A little bird told me you needed me, and by bird, I mean Sherlock though.” He chuckled, and Mycroft felt like two agonizing years hadn't passed. “It took him longer than we thought to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft frowned, “We?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we. Sally, Dimmock, half of my squad. The Cartel was setting a price for my head, we had to make them believe they succeeded.” When Greg approached him, Mycroft noticed the limp on his right leg. “The bullet did fracture my spine, and it fucking sucks. But at least I can still walk if you consider the use of a cane ‘walk’.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn't you tell me? You put me through hell with your death, did you stop for a second and thought about me?” <em>Your husband</em> was left unspoken. </p><p> </p><p>“No, sweetheart,” Gregory whispered, holding his hand on his. “If they found out I survived, they would've gone for you. They would've harmed you, and I wouldn't permit that. I wasn't going to let them break my vows. Never."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And I, Gregory François Lestrade, swear to you, Alexander Mycroft Chad Holmes, to keep you safe from any harm that this world carries, to put your life in front of mine if necessary.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mycroft closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, the tears that fell from his eyes were pure relief. He heard a sob that quickly recognized as his, and then Gregory held him in his arms, walking cane forgotten on the floor beside them.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I'm right here. I'm not leaving you ever again.”</p><p> </p><p>He was no longer living with the ghost of his Gregory.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After two full weeks of not posting anything, this is an idea that came up a night I couldn't sleep. I've been hospitalized since November 28th after testing positive for COVID-19, and my condition has improved barely three days ago. I'm not feeling great, but way better than I did two weeks ago. The virus exists, and even if the vaccination is starting already, please wear a mask and stay home if possible, because being bedridden with a respirator on it's not something I wish on anyone.</p><p>Stay safe y'all. </p><p>Happy Holidays.♡</p></blockquote></div></div>
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